Roof Tops
by Amongst-Azarath
Summary: She was sitting on a roof with Roy. That alone was a clear indicator of how drunk she was.


_A/N: And I did it again. This is a bit of a mess.. in a good way? It didn't fit with any of my other RoyxArt stuff, so I put it on its own._

_Also, I'm not sure if they've done this before.. so I left it pretty open. Add your own spin to it. _

_Dislcaimer: Don't own._

_Read and enjoy.. and pretty please review :)._

* * *

**_Roof tops_**

His arse crashes onto the edge of the guttering with a loud clang, hers follows suit, the crash less prominent than his. In time, their lower legs slip over the edge, dangling freely. She plops the black stilettos in her right hand next to her into the cream coloured guttering, surrounded by leaves of various colours and small mounds of dirt.

The sun had just set, the sky glowing with stunning shades of pinks, oranges and reds. The sky was empty, cloudless, the perfect day for an engagement party – Dinah and Oliver's engagement to be exact. It was one of the rare occasions that you would see Artemis in a dress and high heels, and Roy in a suit and tie. It was probably the only time the two underages could get away with drinking in plain sight in front of hundreds of people, most of them superheros_._ The two archers had taken full advantage of the free booze, downing as many beers and champagnes' as they could. They had managed to shake off the rest of the team, Dick to Bruce, Wally to Barry and M'gann and Connor were probably feeding each other cake amongst the gardens, discussing future plans for their own engagement party and probably their wedding too. The two archers had scaled one of the walls on the opposite side of the mansion and fumbled their way here, to a flat roofed surface of tin that overlooked the shrubbery and assorted gardens surrounding the manor, and what looked like a second driveway that lead to the back of the mansion.

It was getting late, but the party showed no signs of slowing down, the loud thumping of music behind them still reverberating through the roof beneath their bottoms. The red head still manages to clasp a bottle of almost finished beer in his hands; the blonde did have a glass of champagne, which she regrets putting down before she had ascended the vine covered wall to the roof. She knew she didn't need it, judging by the fact that her vision wasn't exactly straight and defined, her reflexes were much slower than normal and that she was sitting on a _roof_ with _Roy._ That alone should've been a clear indicator.

The silence between them is comforting on the windless evening. Her dress is uncomfortably low on her behind, she's pretty sure top of her arse is on show. She rocks sideways slightly, trying to readjust it, but she's pretty sure she just made it worse. She sighs audibly, questioning why she let M'gann force her to where it. It was unexpectedly scanty, for her. She was surprised no one had said anything, but then again, she was at the engagement party of woman who wore a leotard and fishnets daily. It was an emerald green, one shouldered dress made from a pleated satin type of fabric. However, it exposed her whole back and partially her stomach. It fell straight from the band dangling at her hips to the floor. It was particularly stunning on her athletic figure, as Roy seems to be noticing.

She raises an eyebrow at his wondering eyes that are completely engrossed by how low the dress sits on her back. He notices he's been caught and has no desire to hide it. "Having trouble with your dress.." he pauses briefly, his tone much more gravelly than usual, "_replacement."_ The last word isn't spoken as insult, but more of an innuendo.

She smirks at his lame attempt to rouse her with the old nickname. "No, but you seem to be," she counters quickly.

He grins, flashing his straight pearly whites. Strangely, his response isn't witty or demeaning. The alcohol is affecting him more than he wants to admit. "It looks good," he acknowledges truthfully, letting his gaze broaden to the horizon. He brings the bottle in his hands to his lips, the liquid oozing down his throat as the bottle shoots straight up into the air, upside down. As soon as nothing but air hits his lips, the bottle is removed. Carelessly he lets it slip from his fingers and into the garden bed below. It lands with a dull clink onto the soil. She looks at him and he looks all too attractive intoxicated. He's leaning over now, his elbows resting on his knees. He's got that James Dean aura going on, attitude, but just so insanely _cool _about it all. The sides of his auburn hair have been freshly shaved short, leaving the top longer. It obviously had been styled at some point earlier in the day, but is now utterly messed up, which somehow made him look even hotter. Not to mention the debonair suit clothing his extremely well-toned body. The suit is a dark grey, fitting his frame perfectly, with a white collared shirt and a slim black tie that is dishevelled somewhat.

"You look pretty hot too, Harper," the comment slips from her mouth. Her hand slaps over her mouth instantly, failing hard at trying to hide her bewildered expression. She can't believe she just said that.

His head snaps to her, his green eyes bright. The smirk on his face is beyond amused. "What did you just say?" he quizzes her, trying to confirm the words that fumbled out of her mouth.

She turns away, the deeply embarrassed look written plainly across her features. Her hand finally drops from her mouth. She doesn't answer, but just looks down to the shrubs in the garden below.

"What did you say?" he questions again, harder, but the tone extremely playful. He can't wipe that sly smile of his face.

Swiftly, his head and body jerks forward, trying to get in her sightline. Surprised, she launches sideways, her hand reaching out to try and steady herself. It smacks into her stilettos and her head snaps back at surprising speed. She lurches forward to catch the falling shoes, but they're already gone, falling into the garden bed below. She wobbles slightly, her balance off, threatening to fall.

The red head beside her slides a quick hand around her waist, pulling her body back into balance. She looks back at him. Her forehead is wrinkled into a pathetic frown. She sighs lethargically and her expression melts to match it.

"Thanks Harper," she remarks, looking down to the big green shrub hiding her black stilettos, "now they're lost forever.. in a bush."

He chuckles a little, leaving his hand around her waist. She doesn't seem to notice, or she doesn't care. "I don't think you'll even remember you lost them by the time we leave."

She rolls her eyes, not even realising what he just implied. "I'm not that drunk."

"But you're drunk," he points out matter of fact like.

"So are you," she attempts to bite back, but it comes out all wrong. It's childlike and rhythmic.

He notices her fumble. Her tone doesn't match her face. "Not as much as you," his voice is soft now, less demeaning than a moment ago.

She sighs, a loud huff. She would never, ever win against Roy Harper. She attempts to defend herself, but it all crumbles as soon as it comes out of her mouth. "I'm not that drunk," it comes out as a _taunt_, of all things, but it doesn't matter. Confidently, she shuffles her closest hand through his auburn hair.

That teasing smirk reappears on his face, but he doesn't move. "I don't think that was a sober Artemis move."

Her hand glides down to the back of his neck, boarding on the collar of his suit. It stays there, her fingers tips gently caressing the back of his neck.

It's not until he removes his hand from her waist she notices it was there. He grips the satin fabric of her dress with both hands. Slowly he pulls up the fabric, hand by hand. It pools in a pile in the small gap between their outer thighs. The fabric reveals a slender and thin leg with an olive complexion. Its muscle protrudes conspicuously. A calloused hand sets itself right at the peak of the muscle. The skin is soft and supple, but extremely toned. Her face melts into a mischievous smile. She too could play this game. "I don't think that was a sober Roy move," she states, her insulted expression counterfeit.

"Is this a sober Roy move?" he questions seriously, his face stoic. His body turns slightly towards her, his free hand crossing his body to her face. His index and middle finger caress her jawline, encouraging her to extend her movement more towards him. Suddenly, he's all too charming and it's impossible to decline his delicate touch. She obliges, moving her head closer and he moves closer too. They reach that point where there is no other option, but they both pause. He can taste her breath, almost uncannily close to champagne. Impulsively, he takes control, the alcohol giving him an abundance of confidence. Their lips touch – and it's something that's peculiar in such a beautiful way. It's soft and slow. It tastes like the perfect mix of beer and champagne. The hand on her thigh gently massages, squeezing tight, then releasing. The hand she has on the back of his neck slides to his face, gently gripping the curve of his jawline. There's no tongue, which surprises her. Mutually, the kiss breaks. Their faces are only millimetres apart.

Her face is blurred to him, a general wash of her olive complexion. He wishes desperately for it to be clear and readable. He wants to see her expression, to see what she's feeling, but he doesn't want to move away. It feels as if there's too much on the line to make such a brash move.

It's a moment before she speaks. "Maybe," the answer is low and sultry.

That was the confirmation he needed. His mind was delving into all sorts of situations – most them something that sober Roy would not even allow himself to think of. His eyes lit up, already settling on an idea. Before even thinking it through, it is already exiting his mouth.

"How about this?" He enquires slowly, making sure he hits every word.

His hand slips higher up her thigh, dancing at the edge of lacy underwear. She leans backwards, her hands resting on the tin for support. Slowly, her legs part as his delicate hand slips inside the lace thong. His index finger slips between her lips, gently caressing the inside back and forth. Her legs widen and swiftly two of his fingers slip inside her. Her eyes widen for a split second, surprised. However, she instantly warms to it. She leans back more, her neck letting go. Her head flops back, she's ready for more. Excruciating slow, his fingers circle her inside, slipping in and out, but only ever so slightly.

"Definitely not," the answer is almost a slow moan.

"Good," his reply is blunt as his fingers slip out.

As if she knows what he's thinking, she lets her body sink to tin beneath. Her knee closest to him instinctively bends, rising and hooking a heel in the guttering. He pulls himself back from the edge with his arms, dragging his new suit pants across the tin. His knees bend and his legs curl as he rolls on to them, ironically as if he's about to pray to god. _Her god maybe._ The thought makes a small smile tug at his lips,

He grips her bent knee, signally what he wants. Automatically her body, somewhat clumsily, moves to suit him ending up straight in alignment, her open legs facing him. One leg still dangles over the guttering whilst the other stays up and bent. Hastily, he flips the rest of her dress up, clumping over her abdomen in a green mess. As he leans in to her pussy, one hand snakes around her buttocks, around the outside of leg and up her hip, his elbow resting on the tin for support. His lips press against the tender skin of her pubic bone. She twitches the first time. The second time her bent knee flops sideways, landing on his inner elbow, but he doesn't seem care. His free hand grips one side of the black lace thong on her hip bone and yanks it down. In between kisses, his hand crosses, attempting to rip the other side down. But it's obviously not successful due to her bent knee. He pulls upward, impatient and his vision spins. He doesn't slow down pulling his buried arm from beneath her bent leg like a snake. He feverishly grips the sides of her thong like he's gripping rope.

A shuffle a short and a few clinks of what sounds like high heels down below makes them both pause almost instantly. The blonde licks her lips, tense and focused, listening.

"You can't leave Bruce," a woman's voice calls, close.

As if it were second nature, Artemis's leg quickly snakes back over the guttering to join her other. Roy launches his body forwards and descends, pressing his chest tightly against hers. His arms snake around her waist and he rolls sideways, taking her with him. He grimaces as their rolls thud against the thin tin. They pause after two rolls, enough to hide themselves from the people below – they think. The blonde is still on the bottom and the red head still on the top, his chest pressed against hers.

"What was that?" the man's voice calls, edgy.

There is a silence.

"Bruce, stop."

Roy swallows realising its Bruce Wayne, _aka Batman_, of all people, and here's Roy, with Artemis, on the roof, drunk and about to lick her out. The best combo. Ever. Of course the millionaire would have noticed a feminine leg hanging from the roof and probably some green material that resembled a dress. He probably saw Roy's scruffy red hair too. He hopes that Bats won't put two and two together and – Of course he will. Roy's only hope is that Bruce is also intoxicated and won't act upon investigating further. Actually, he hopes that Bruce is _fucked off his tits_, then, he might not try to figure out who it is, or who they are.

"Did you see that, on the roof?" he questions further. Roy can feel Artemis' body tense under his.

There's a loud huff. "No, Bruce I didn't," the woman is losing her patience, judging by her tone. "Come on, Bruce, let's get back to the party," she pauses, "I'm sure Oliver's looking for you."

"I'm sure he's fine without me, Diana."

Roy almost chokes on his own breath. Batman and Wonder woman. Even better. The two biggest prudes on the face of the earth. If they got caught, they would never, _ever_ live it down.

He looks at the blonde beneath him; her expression is that of a guilty teenager. He notices that his arms are still wrapped around her frame, pressing painfully into the tin. He doesn't move. She's looking at him now. Her eyes are bloodshot and dull, due to the alcohol. The black eyeliner that accentuated her Vietnamese look is now smudged and far from pitch black. Her cheeks are flushed with a light pink colour, slightly influenced by the effect of the alcohol, but mostly by the way the red head is looking at her. Her thick lips contain no residue of the pink gloss she applied only an hour ago. He forgot how engrossing she is to look at. Her unique ethnicity giving her a fresh and oddly stunning look. He leans forward, closing in on her lips.

"Bruce, you're drunk."

There is a short pause in the conversation below.

Roy pauses, his eyes locked on hers. They're so close. All he wants is to kiss her, forgetting all about the important people only a few metres away. Her eyes close and it's too hard for him to stop. He jettisons his cares in the spur of the moment, not caring if he gets caught. He's drunk and this situation is too good to pass. His lips delicately touch hers. This time there's tongue, pushing through wet lips slowly and passionately.

"And?" Bruce cheekily replies.

There is a deep feminine laugh, followed by a long silence.

The kiss between the two archers breaks. They part enough to keep eye contact.

"Come on," Diana's voice is deep and sensual, but light hearted.

There is a sequence of random noises, probably the two heroes' kissing or something along those lines, Roy presumes. Slowly their footsteps fade. He closes his eyes in relief, letting his face rest on her chest. They're safe. They hadn't been caught.

"Have fun, kids!" comes a gravelly shout.

Roy's face drops to a deadpan.


End file.
